


The Sea in His Soul

by randi2204



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you so eager for me to hear another lecture on how *unsuitable* an acquaintance Jack Sparrow is to have?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sea in His Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is a complete AU, though it still takes place in the Caribbean. James is about 18, and is not the Commodore; he's not even in the Navy. Jack is about 10 years older, but still Jack.
> 
> Warnings: Non-graphic sex, and angst (but not angsty sex). And there are definitely other warnings that also apply, but I can't give them to you without giving away too much.
> 
> Disclaimer: These pretty boys sail under the flag of the Mouse. Not mine, no money.

His father’s inn was up the hill a little from the port itself, so from the barn’s hayloft, James could see the harbor clearly.  The surf lapped against the shore, as steady and unending as his own breath; he could hear it in the late afternoon breeze that came in off the water.

 

Absently twirling a stalk of grass between his fingers, he sighed, staring through the cutout hayloft window at the ocean until the westering sun had stretched the shadows out into a precursor of darkness.  When he closed his eyes, he still could smell it, under the stink of the harbor and horses and humanity.  It stirred something in him, made his blood sing; it called to him, and had since he’d been small.

 

For a while, he had dreamed about running away – to join the Navy, to sail on a merchant ship, just to be _asea_.  But his father had explained life to him one night after Mother died – told him that as much as he’d like to let James be a sailor, he needed help to run the inn, especially since none of their other children had survived.

 

As much as he longed to sail, _duty_ was something young James Norrington understood in the very marrow of his bones, though no one had ever explained it to him outright.  He said nothing more about being a sailor.

 

That didn’t mean he didn’t think about it, though, and more lately than ever he had.

 

_But I don’t imagine I’d join the Navy now anyway,_ James thought, smiling at the rustle of noise behind him.

 

A moment later, he was enveloped in the scent of rum and sun, as a pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around his neck from behind.  Hair that wasn’t his own tickled his cheek and he leaned into the touch, reaching up to anchor the arms around him with one hand.

 

“Why are you never surprised when I do this?” a deep voice pouted in his ear.  The body attached to the arms came to rest heavily against his back. 

 

James chuckled softly.  “You always make some kind of noise, Jack,” he replied, and craned his neck to look him in the eye.  “And usually,” he added, his tone ever so faintly mocking “it’s one of these ridiculous things.”  He tugged at a hank of hair adorned with several beads.

 

“Ridiculous, are they?” Jack nipped his ear in retaliation, and he shivered.  “I shall have to work harder at stealth, then,” he breathed, gusty heat on James’ flesh.

 

“Aye,” James said, his voice unsteady.  He twisted around in Jack’s loose embrace, dislodging the hands that had already untucked his shirttails from his breeches, and used his grip on the beaded lock of hair to draw Jack closer, until he could smell the rum ever-present on Jack’s breath.  Sneaking a peek, he saw that Jack’s eyes, ringed with a smudge of kohl, were already closed as if in anticipation.  Instead of kissing him, however, James brushed a finger over his salt-chapped lips, just to watch his dark eyes flicker open.  When they did, he smiled.  “I’ve missed you, Jack.”

 

Jack’s gaze softened even further in the long afternoon light.  “And I you, luv,” he said, one bejeweled hand fluttering along his jaw.  Then he grinned, lips curving wickedness and teeth glinting gold, and grabbed James’ chin.  “So give us a kiss,” he purred and covered James’ mouth with his own.

 

James met him readily, his hand sliding into Jack’s wind-tossed hair to keep him close, even as Jack’s eager hands dove toward the fastenings of his breeches.

 

His world narrowed to touch and taste and smell; heat and wet and Jack’s tongue exploring his mouth, Jack’s hands stroking his prick, the sweetly salty tang of Jack’s mouth, spiced with rum and spray and _Jack_.  Worn linen beneath his hands, then the warm bronze of Jack’s skin, and he charted ink and scars alike with his fingers as Jack pressed him back into the hay.  Overlying it all was the scent of ocean, clinging closer to Jack than even that of rum.

 

Kissing Jack was like kissing the sea; something wild and demanding and completely untamable, a storm of motion and emotion that could still to calm in an instant but rarely did.

 

It was some time before James’ breathing finally slowed to match the waves once more.  He lay half on Jack’s greatcoat, which was thankfully heavy enough that the straw beneath didn’t poke through.  Jack was a welcome warmth spooned up behind him, bestowing lazy kisses to his shoulder, while his ever-busy hands caressed stomach and chest and arm, any part of him that was in easy reach.

 

“Your hair is gettin’ long, Jamie,” Jack murmured, and his fingers danced up to twine in it where it had escaped his ribbon.  “Shall I braid it like mine?”

 

James smiled, too well sated to open his eyes.  “Are you so eager for me to hear another lecture on how _unsuitable_ an acquaintance Jack Sparrow is to have?” he responded, quiet laughter in his tone.

 

“Unsuitable, aye,” Jack said, and nipped where he had been kissing.  James hummed.  “But hardly an _acquaintance_, luv.”  He pressed harder against James’ back, flush against his spine from nape to arse, and James’ breath escaped him in a soft moan as the contact made him aware of Jack’s renewed arousal.

 

“Jack…”

 

“Aye, luv?”  His hands stroked with purpose now, circling lower on his stomach until James caught one and pulled it away.

 

“You know that Father will be looking for me soon.” He managed to keep his voice even, locking his bitterness away inside.

 

Jack sighed against the back of his neck, fingers stilling momentarily.  “Aye, he needs you to help out in the tavern,” he said, as if by rote, then muttered, “What a joykill your da is.”

 

James shifted, hitching himself over until he could see Jack’s pout.  “I’m sorry, Jack,” he said, truly contrite.

 

Swiftly, his mouth was stilled by two of Jack’s fingers, and he shook his head until the beads rattled.  “No, you are a good and loyal son,” he said, shocking James with his softly fervent words.  “Don’t ever apologize for that, James.”

 

Too quickly, though, he got what James thought of as his plotting look, fingers tapping lightly at his lips instead.  “Though,” he said slowly, “if I explain to your da just how we’re _not acquaintances_, it might be that he’ll disown you, and you can sail with me on my _Pearl_…”

 

James was caught between laughter (because _surely_ Jack wasn’t serious) and horror (because it was more than likely he _was_), and a fierce longing to do exactly as he’d said.  “You wouldn’t.”

 

Again, Jack sighed, and leaned in for a brief kiss.  “No, luv, I wouldn’t.  I’ll have to think of some other plan to spirit you away and onto my ship.  But now, I s’pect you’ll be needin’ to get dressed… shame, that,” he finished with a leer almost comical.  “Your da don’t know what kind of profit he’s missin’ by not havin’ you help out just like this.”

 

Blushing and laughing at once, James sat up and reached for his abandoned clothes.  “And you wouldn’t be jealous while I’m being ogled by the old salts?” he inquired teasingly, shimmying into his shirt.  “What of the occasional unmarried ladies who stay with us before traveling to the other side of the island, watching me from behind their fans?”

 

Before his shirt was properly on, Jack leapt on him again, pressing him back down to the hay-covered floor and pinioning his arms.  “Aye, I would,” he said hoarsely, and nosed aside the collar of James’ shirt to latch on with his mouth where neck met shoulder, letting go only when there was a fine red mark raised there.  “You’re mine, my lad,” he whispered, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  He took a breath, as if to say more, then seemed to recall himself, and straightened away, releasing James’ wrists as he did. 

 

James’ own breathing had roughened once more, as much from the feel of Jack’s lean body on his as his possessive display.  _I never thought I’d get such a reaction,_ he thought, sitting back up.  “Then perhaps that’s something _else_ you ought not tell my father,” he said, striving for a light tone, and had to shake the back of his shirt when some chaff tickled him.  “Well done, Jack, I’m covered in hay.”

 

Now Jack gave him a somewhat sheepish look, his fingers busily fiddling with his headscarf. “Sorry, luv,” he offered.  “You’ve got straw all in your hair, too.  Here, turn about, and I’ll get it for you.”

 

With a smile, James did as Jack suggested, knowing it was as much an excuse for Jack to play with his hair as it was for the supposed help.

 

In short order, Jack’s nimble fingers had plucked all the bits of hay from his hair.  “Now,” he murmured, tugging a lock of James’ hair, “how’s that for stealth?”

 

Blinking, James saw that Jack had deftly braided into his hair a bead, one that he recognized as one of Jack’s own.  “Jack!”

 

“Ribbon, Jamie,” Jack said, and snatched it from his hand.  “Tie it underneath, and none will be the wiser,” he said, suiting action to the word.  “There.”

 

Lifting a hand, James discovered that the lock with the bead was well hidden, tucked among the rest of his hair and tied at his nape.  “You are incorrigible,” he declared fondly.

 

When he turned, Jack had already managed to get into his shirt and breeches, and was pulling on his waistcoat.  “Aye,” he agreed with good cheer. James could feel the intensity of his gaze, though, completely belying his tone.  “And now you’ve two things to remember me by.”

 

“I’ve more than that,” James murmured, but his smile wavered, and he turned away, pretending to busy himself picking chaff off his breeches.  _And this is the part I hate,_ he thought with no small resignation.  “How long will you be gone?”

 

“Too long, I’m afraid,” Jack replied. The loose hay muffled only slightly the sound of him stomping into his boots, and one of the horses in the stable below shied, hooves thudding dully against its stall door.  “Though I’m hopin’ it’ll be less than what I’m thinkin’.”

 

When James looked up again, Jack had retied his sash and was settling one of his seeming multitude of belts.  “Jack… how long?”

 

“Prob’ly two months,” Jack muttered, giving all his attention to his belt.  “If the winds are fair and we’ve good fortune, maybe only six weeks.”

 

James’ mouth went dry, and he swallowed heavily, trying to moisten it enough to speak.  It wouldn’t oblige, and all he could do was nod.  Six weeks without Jack would be an eternity, two months even longer.  _Already leaving,_ he thought, closing his eyes, _and he’s only been ashore just over a day._  Having been on the receiving end of Jack Sparrow’s not-inconsiderable attention for nearly a year, he had discovered in himself a _need_ for Jack that was at times almost too great to bear.  Whenever Jack was off pirating, James felt not-quite-whole; the best part of him was missing.

 

Moving stiltedly, he stood to finish getting dressed.  As soon as he had, he was captured; Jack embraced him from behind once more, chin digging into his shoulder, hands spread wide over his chest and stomach.  “Aye, it’s a bloody long time,” Jack said, and James thought he could hear some of the same dread that he himself felt.  “But I’ve my reasons, which I sincerely believe will become clear when I come back.  They’re very good reasons indeed,” he added hopefully.  “You’ll like them when I tell you.”

 

James smiled in spite of his sorrow at their long separation.  “Is that so?” he asked softly, and traced the back of one of Jack’s hands, honey-gold against the cream of his shirt.  “Then I shall try to be patient.”

 

Jack kissed the side of his neck, wet and sloppy, before releasing him.  “And you, luv, should be gettin’ back to help your da.”

 

Startled, James saw that it had gotten late; the sun was a red blur sinking into the ocean, and the shadows had grown into darkness.  “I must,” he said, and headed for the ladder. “Father will be wondering where I am.”

 

“Oi, Jamie!”

 

Already two rungs down, James looked up at Jack’s call, surprised.

 

“Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?” he asked, grinning gold in the dying light.

 

Bracing himself against the bars, James beckoned Jack over.  When Jack knelt down, the better to be on his level, he reached out, laying both hands on Jack’s cheeks and pulling him even closer until their lips met and their tongues tangled.  One of his hands slid to Jack’s nape, to draw him even closer, and he felt Jack’s doing the same.

 

At last, he had to break away, panting.  Jack’s gaze was heated again when he opened his eyes, and he swayed closer, as if seeking to continue the kiss.  James let him, let their lips touch in a whisper of a kiss before drawing back.  “Fair winds, Captain Sparrow,” he whispered and trailed his hands along the line of his jaw before letting go and clattering down the ladder.

 

He hurried to the kitchen door, and paused just long enough to see Jack sashay out, as if the land tilted like the wind-rocked deck of his ship.  As he disappeared down the road, James murmured, “And come home soon.”

 

***

Putting Jack out of his thoughts for six weeks was perhaps one of the hardest things James had ever had to do.  As the days dragged on, he found his eyes drawn more and more often to the sea, searching for the merest glimpse of the _Black Pearl_, though he knew full well that Jack never dropped anchor in the harbor.

 

His longing for the ocean was nearly as great as his need of Jack.

 

His father watched him with a stern eye, and James knew that his half-hearted work was a disappointment.  As ashamed as he was of himself, he simply couldn’t force himself to truly care about the inn as his father did.  Duty could be something to love, but it could also be a cross.

 

Once he saw the silhouette of a ship, black against the horizon, but no matter how he silently begged, it never came closer, and eventually vanished.  Though he knew it could not have been Jack, still it pulled his heart from him.

 

After six Sundays had passed, James could not stop his attention from wandering.  Whatever task he had at hand was soon ignored in favor of the road to the harbor, until his father would call him sharply back to himself.

 

So it was that he caught sight of the vessel as it entered the harbor.  The red sunset reflected from white sails, flowed over the ensign rippling in the breeze.  _Royal Navy,_ James thought, frowning.  It was not as if the Navy never came, but their visits were infrequent.  _They must need to restock._

 

He tore his gaze away from the ship with an effort and climbed reluctantly down from the hayloft.  With a ship in port, his father would want him under his eye even more than usual.

 

The sound of many feet in step drew James to the kitchen door.  The ship carried a contingent of marines, and they marched up between the inn and the barn.  Suddenly, at an order barked from their commander, their disciplined march broke apart, and they swarmed toward the inn, bayonets gleaming.

 

Aghast, James could but stare, wondering at the attack, for they had done nothing wrong, and found himself with a blade pointed at his stomach.  “Hold still, lad,” the marine ordered, his broad face twisted in an offensive grin.  “Wouldn’t want to get run through, would you?”

 

He shook his head, saying nothing, and raised his hands slightly to show that he was unarmed.

 

The marine motioned with his weapon.  “Back inside now.”

 

James stepped back, pretended to stumble and slammed the door in the marine’s unpleasant face.  Quickly, he darted around the kitchen table, intending to run up the stairs to his room and grab the knife he had hidden there, a short blade that Jack had stolen somewhere.

 

Unfortunately, another marine had been making sure there was no one else in the inn, and had heard the bang of the door.  He caught James on the stairs and tripped him, grabbing one ankle.  Immediately, James lashed out with his free foot, thrashing and squirming, trying to ignore the rough edges of the steps digging into his side, his ribs, and the bruises forming on his hands where he instinctively tried to catch himself.

 

The first marine joined the second and caught hold of his other foot before he could do any lasting damage, and together they heaved him down the stairs to the kitchen floor.  “Ye’ll regret that, boy,” he growled, scowling evilly, and raised the butt of his weapon to crack James across the face.

 

“There’ll be none of that, Mister Pintel,” another voice drawled from the doorway.

 

The marine checked his blow in an instant, stepping away from James.  “Aye, Cap’n,” he said, tone clipped but respectful.

 

“Mister Ragetti, let go the lad’s feet,” the captain’s voice continued, sounding amused.  “Let him stand.”

 

The second marine released his ankles and readied his bayonet, grinning at him in a way that seemed completely daft.

 

“Now, lad, up ye go.  Let’s have a look at ye.”

 

Slowly, James climbed upright, resisting the urge to wince as various aches and injuries made themselves known.  Instead, he looked at the owner of the voice that the marines had called captain.  The man looked as old as James’ father, or perhaps even older.  There were deep wrinkles around his eyes from staring into the glare of sun on water for many years, and seams in his face that might have been scars.  He wore the brocaded uniform and white wig of a naval captain, his hat tucked under his arm, sword hooked at his belt.

 

Only as he finished his appraisal did James become aware that he, too, was being studied.  “Well, and aren’t you a _fine_ young man,” the captain said, blue eyes frankly admiring, and James felt his cheeks color.  “And here I was hoping the landlord had a lovely and charming daughter to entertain me.” 

 

“I am not here for your entertainment, Captain,” James retorted, filling his words with as much cool disdain as he could.

 

“Are ye not?” The captain nodded at the marines, and before James could blink, he had been seized by the arms and held fast.  He struggled briefly, but stopped when the captain stepped close to him, reaching up to take hold of his chin.  “I assure ye, young master, that ye most certainly are.”  Then he leaned in and covered James’ mouth with his own.

 

For a second, James was stunned, unable to move.  He could not fathom that the naval captain was kissing him, when the only man that had ever done so was Jack.  The captain dragged his tongue along James’ lips, trying to force them open, and something in him rebelled.  He opened his mouth, only to sink his teeth into the captain’s lower lip, biting him viciously.

 

The captain jerked away, his face contorted in fury.  Instantly, his fist lashed out, dealing James a backhand that snapped his head around and split his lip.  “Little bastard,” the captain snarled, gingerly touching his own savaged lip.  It was not bleeding, though.

 

_A pity, that,_ James thought darkly, as blood trickled over his chin.

 

“Bring him,” the captain ground out, and stalked out of the kitchen.  The marines followed, their grip on James never slackening.

 

He fought them the whole way, until they were half-dragging, half-carrying him along.

 

“James!”  His father’s voice pierced his wild rage, and James paused, breathing heavily and peering at his father through his hair, escaped from his ribbon.  His father, too, was guarded by a marine at bayonet-point.  His glare spoke volumes, and James slumped in submission.  “Captain Barbossa,” his father said, his tone one that James knew from experience brooked no argument.  “As I have tried to explain, we have done no wrong.  There is no reason for such ill-treatment…”

 

“And I, Master Norrington, must ask ye to hold your tongue, unless ye want me to cut it out,” Captain Barbossa replied sharply.  “’Twas a fortunate piece of information that led us here, and we’ll be makin’ sure what truth there is to it before doin’ aught else.”

 

James saw his father shocked into silence.

 

Barbossa nodded in mock gratitude before continuing.  “Now then, we’re lookin’ for a pirate.  He’s been preyin’ on ships and settlements for many a year, but of late, it appears he’s tryin’ to build up his nest egg.”  Some of the marines gathered snickered at that. “Bold and reckless, this man is, as if he believes he’s naught to fear from His Majesty’s Navy.  But we’re goin’ to teach him the error of his ways, and he’ll be swingin’ from the gibbet in Port Royal soon enough… and so will anyone who is proved to have aided him.”

 

James felt his insides turn cold with terror.  He knew with absolute certainty what the captain would say next.

 

“So if ye know the whereabouts of Jack Sparrow, now’s the time to speak your piece… or you’ll be joinin’ him in Hell.”  Barbossa eyed first James then his father expectantly.

 

James set his jaw and gathered himself to shake off the marines.  As if knowing what he was thinking, his father gave him a quelling look.  “Captain,” he began, “it’s true that Sparrow comes here from time to time, but I’ve not seen him in months.  It may be that he’s found some other inn-keep’s door to darken for his rum.”

 

Barbossa smiled, a cunning thing that set James’ teeth on edge.  “Ah, Master Norrington, would that it were true.  Let me reveal that bit of information I mentioned.  The captain of the vessel he last attacked heard him clearly say that with the booty he’d accumulated, he could return to his… beloved.  And by an even greater stroke of luck, one of Sparrow’s crew had been sorely injured on that raid and left for dead.  Before his death, he told of how Sparrow would make for this island every fortnight at the least.  Why, ‘tis plain as day.  His doxy of a sweetheart is here somewhere, and since the Bristled Boar is the closest thing to a pub the port has…” He trailed off, still smiling.

 

All of a sudden, James became aware of how his heart pounded, of how clever Barbossa’s trap truly was, though he likely didn't know it.  _And Jack _will_ be coming here,_ he thought, frightened to the depths of his soul, _but not just for drink… I’ve got to warn him somehow!  He can’t come here, not until the bloody Navy has gone…_

 

He heard the rumble of his father’s voice, but turned inward to his thoughts, he could not make sense of the words.  Indeed, he was so focused on his desperate escape plan that he listened to nothing, until one of the marines spoke in his ear.  “Cap’n.”

 

“What is it, Mister Ragetti?” Barbossa barked, glaring at the interruption.

 

“I think ye should see this.”  He took one hand from James’ arm, but before James could fight his way free, Ragetti had tilted his head to one side, and the beaded lock bumped against the side of his neck.

 

He froze as the captain stomped over, didn’t even twitch as his over-long nails scratched his skin.  “Not a doxy after all,” Barbossa said softly, examining the bead and braid before letting it fall again.  “But still his sweetheart, aye? A bugger.”

 

James closed his eyes.

 

“Tie him up,” Barbossa ordered, and flashed that cruel smile once more.  “And a gag wouldn’t go amiss, I’m thinkin’.”  As his arms were wrenched behind his back, distantly James heard the captain speak again, his tone thoughtful. “The _Black Pearl_ is a fast ship.  Sparrow must already be here.  He’s smart enough not to drop anchor in the harbor, but not so smart as to avoid bein’ taken for much longer.  And here we’ve the finest bait a man could wish for.”

 

The marines roared their approval.

 

In short order, James found himself in his tiny chamber, hands bound behind him and around the post bracing the ceiling, a filthy rag stuffed in his mouth and pulling at his tender lip.  As soon as he was secure, the marines stood back, and one of them looked from him to the window.  “Now,” Pintel said, a malicious little grin curling his lip.  “You can help us keep watch, there’s a good lad.”

 

Ragetti cackled and snugged the rope around his hands a little tighter. “Keep good watch,” he muttered.  Then James heard a gun being cocked behind him, felt something prod him just under his shoulder blade.

 

“What’s that for?” Pintel asked, settling by the window to keep his own watch.  “And douse the lantern!”

 

“Cap’n’s orders,” Ragetti said. The room plunged into darkness a moment later, and he stumbled over to the window to join the other marine.  “A little somethin’ in case the lad gets any ideas.”

 

Carefully, James tested the ropes around his wrists.  They were tight, and the knots did not give way.  _Of course not,_ he thought wryly, letting his head fall back against the brace.  _I suppose even marines must learn sailor’s knots…_

 

In the evening gloom, he could barely make out the road where it fell away down the hill.  When the moon rose, though, it would glow like silver among the trees, and anyone walking along it would be completely visible.

 

Jack would be completely visible, and if he were not warned away in time, he would be slain.  Barbossa did not seem the kind of captain who cared whether he had prisoners for trial or dead bodies for warning.

 

_I cannot let Jack be killed._  The thought burned in his mind, hot and bright as the sun.  _I cannot!_

 

Moving slowly, trying to make no sound, James pulled at the ropes again.  He clamped down on the gag, thankful for it when the ropes bit into his wrists.  The rough hemp chafed against his skin, then burned, and as the hours wore on, it grew sticky-slick, and he knew he’d drawn blood.  Sweat dribbled down his temple, tickling his cheek as he worked, and he paused every time either of the marines shifted or spoke, hardly able to wait for them to grow still once more.

 

The moon rose, dancing her stately way into the night sky, and spread her light over waves and land alike.  James fought harder against the ropes, frantic to get loose and somehow warn Jack.  _Please,_ he prayed, hoping God would listen, _do not let Jack come tonight, please let him stay safely on the _Pearl…

 

He’d managed to get some play in the ropes, but not enough to get free when one of his fingers brushed metal.  He went still, closing his eyes the better to see what his finger felt.

 

It was the trigger of the gun.  Ragetti had bound it to the post as well, so that it jabbed him in the back whenever he moved.  Jack’s voice echoed through his mind.  _Well, that’s just maddeningly unhelpful…_

 

“Hsst!” The sudden scramble of the marines at the window made James open his eyes once more, knowing what he would see and dreading it.

 

_Jack_.  He swayed along the road, melting in and out of shadow, his face leached of color in the moonlight.

 

_Jack, no,_ he screamed silently, still straining against the rope.  _Go back!_  But Jack never paused.

 

Heart sinking, James heard the marines cock their muskets. They’d removed the bayonets long since, so there would be no additional gleam to give warning.

 

_I failed you, Jack,_ he thought, closing his eyes again, not wanting to see Jack die, shot down like a dog on the road.  _I couldn’t get loose; I couldn’t warn you in time.  I’m so sorry…_  As he slumped in defeat, his finger once again touched the trigger.

 

The world seemed to go still, just for a moment, and James saw everything with jewel-like clarity… including how to save Jack.  He took a deep breath, as if to call out even through the gag.  _Forgive me, but I could not live if you were dead._

 

And he pulled the trigger.

 

***

A gunshot shattered the night.  Instinctively, Jack dove off the road into the trees, and kept on going, heedless of the underbrush slapping him in the face and catching in his hair.  _Bloody hell,_ he cursed silently, _the sound of that will have the whole town awake.  And if the whole town is awake and milling about over the sound of a shot, I shall not be able to have a moment with Jamie, much less enjoy his company._

 

Intuition had been prodding at Jack ever since he’d set foot on the road leading up to the tavern James’ da ran, but even that extra sense that had kept him alive for so long could not overcome the burning _need_ he had to see James once more.  _Bugger you,_ he had told instinct with his first step onto the road.  _I’ve been too long away from him._

 

“Bugger, bugger, bloody buggering hell,” he muttered now, as another branch snapped against his face.  This was not at all how he’d been expecting this night to go, and his mouth melted into a pout.  He’d wanted so to gaze into green eyes that sparkled like the sun on the sea, to watch surprise soften into joy on Jamie’s face. 

 

The pouch he’d tucked into his shirt shifted position as he moved, reminding him of its presence by its very weight, and his lips curved upward once more.  He patted it lightly with his fingers.  _Aye, perhaps it’s best to do this in the morning.  One more night’s longing… oh, very poetical, that._

 

It was more than an hour’s walk back to the cove where the _Pearl_ had dropped anchor, and longer since the way he returned was not the way had left.  She was a shadow outlined by the moon, bobbing lightly on the waves to welcome him back.  He climbed aboard, and ordered the night watch to secure the jolly boat.

 

“Jack? Ye’re back already?” Gibbs had, of course, seen him from the helm, and now met him by the ladder.

 

“Aye,” he answered, and wove his way aft, toward his cabin.  “Things did not turn out as expected, nor indeed as planned.  In the morning, you will go ashore and discover the reason why.”

 

“The reason why… what?”

 

At the cabin door, Jack spun and raised one finger.  “The reason for the shot in the night when there were no sounds of revelry and a ship in port.”  He’d made out the ship by moonlight, but couldn’t identify her.

 

“Revelry? This ain’t Tortuga, Jack,” Gibbs pointed out.

 

Jack opened the door to the cabin.  “Aye, which makes a shot in the night all the more mystifyin’, savvy?  First thing in the morning, Mister Gibbs.”

 

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the reluctant reply as he swung the door shut once more.

 

Alone once more, he surveyed his cabin and sighed.  It seemed even emptier than it had scant hours ago.  Jamie only rarely was able to sneak away to join him on the _Pearl_, but Jack was ever hopeful that his glib tongue would be able to convince him to do so.  _One way or another_, he thought with a smirk.

 

For a short while, he surveyed his accounts by lantern-light, then, satisfied his figures were correct, he sat back in his chair with the rum bottle.  It was nearly empty once again, evidence of the previous days’ indulgences.  _Just one more night,_ he reminded himself, and emptied it before climbing into his bunk.

 

At some point, he became aware of weak sunlight falling through the cabin windows and Gibbs shouting orders on deck, but since his dreams were full of James and his bed wasn’t, he pulled the blanket over his head and returned to slumber.

 

When he awoke again, the morning was well advanced.  _And, as I’m tolerably certain that wasn’t part of a dream,_ he thought, eyes closed against the brightness, _Mister Gibbs will be returning from his reconnaissance directly, and I shall know just what the bloody hell it was that went on last night._

 

He was nearly finished dressing when a commotion on deck caught his attention.  Since he could hear Gibbs’ voice in the midst of it, he knew that all he had to do was wait and the information he was waiting for would come to him without any further waiting.  He leaned closer to the mirror to carefully apply the kohl around his eyes.

 

He’d just finished when Gibbs burst into the cabin.  “Cap’n!”

 

“Ah, Mister Gibbs.”  Jack glanced down at himself, satisfied with the transformation.  The clothes were all new, from the pristine linen of his shirt to the snug breeches to the tall boots.  “And what knowledge do you have to impart to me from your trip ashore?”

 

Still panting heavily from his exertions, Gibbs managed to say, “The Navy!”

 

Eyes wide, Jack whirled around.  “What’s the Navy?”

 

“That ship that’s in the harbor.  ‘Tis the _Brisbane_, out of the fort at Port Royal, under the command of Cap’n Barbossa.  Jack,” and in his urgency, Gibbs stepped closer, until he was nearly in Jack’s personal space, “they know we’re here!”

 

“Do they?” Jack gave Gibbs the smile that he liked to think was enigmatic.  “Or do they just _think_ we’re here?”  He knelt to rummage in his sea chest.

 

“Oh, aye, they know we’re here all right… from all I heard, the marines saw you last night on the road to the Bristled Boar.”

 

Jack glared at nothing.  That was trouble and no mistake.  With all the raiding he’d done in the past month, having the Navy so close was not good.  Not to mention that they’d seen him on his way to visit Jamie… _No,_ he thought, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the inside of the chest, _not good at all._

 

“Jack, are ye listenin’ to me?”  When he glanced over his shoulder, Gibbs stared back in disapproval.  “Of course you’re not… I think it best if you sit down.”

 

“Nay, I’m for goin’ ashore.  Even if the Navy is about, they’ll hardly notice me this morn, dressed up all fine.”  With that, he pulled out the velvet coat that he’d been searching for.  Only slightly creased from its time in the locker, it was a deep burgundy in color.  Jack pulled it on, then settled his baldric over it.

 

Gibbs shifted from one foot to the other.  “Jack, ‘tis all manner of foolish to go ashore when the Navy’s there waitin’ for ye… and…”

 

Tucking his pistol into his belt, Jack grinned.  “Aye, but Jamie’s waitin’, too, and has been for too long.”  He took a step toward the cabin door, but Gibbs blocked his path. His smile instantly transformed to a frown.  “Out of my way, if you please.”

 

“Jack, I really think ye should sit down for the rest of it.”  The old sailor matched Jack again as he tried to get around to the door.  “Believe me, Jack…”

 

“Look, mate, dancin’s all well and good, but the honestly dishonest truth is that I’ve much better things on offer, so if you’ll remove yourself from my path, things will definitely be the better for you.” This time Jack’s scowl of displeasure was accompanied by the cock of his pistol.

 

Gibbs took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but did not move.  “Jack… Jamie’s dead.”

 

The words made Jack reel backwards, recoiling in shock for a moment before anger surged to the fore.  _That’s a dirty trick if ever there was!_  “No, he’s not,” he retorted sharply, “and I’ll thank you to…” He trailed off upon taking a closer look at the old pirate.  Gibbs wasn’t holding in laughter; in fact, he looked solemn, more sober than Jack had ever seen him.  As sudden as that, it didn’t seem like a trick anymore; it had the brutal sting of truth.  _‘Cause why would he lie about Jamie… about_ that_?_ He groped behind him for the chair or table, something to collapse onto when his knees gave out, as they threatened to do at any moment.  “Mister Gibbs?” he asked, his voice a whisper, and fell into the chair.

 

His bewhiskered face creased in sympathy, Gibbs nodded.  “I’m sorry, Jack,” he offered.

 

Jack nodded, swallowing heavily to force back the tide of grief about to overwhelm him.  “What happened?”

 

Gibbs peered into the bottle sitting on the table, sighing when he found it empty.  “The _Brisbane_’s cap’n is a canny bastard… somehow he figured we’d be comin’ here, I dunno how.  Bein’ as the Bristled Boar is the only place to get a drink hereabouts, he figured ye’d be goin’ there.  He tied Jamie up, as the lad was probably wantin’ to get away to warn ye… an’ because he’s a bastard, he had him tied up where he could see if you came down the road.  Poor lad,” he said, shaking his head.  “He saw ye comin’, Jack.  An’ the worst of it is… there was a gun to the lad’s back the whole time.”

 

“They shot him?” Rage started to burn inside his chest, which, Jack decided, was good; it filled the empty void there.__

 

“Nay, I heard that the marines say he did it himself… that he got his hand on the gun somehow.”

 

In spite of himself, Jack smiled, though it was nothing more than a faint curl of his lips. He knew without a doubt just what had happened.  “He saw me, mate,” he said softly.  “He saw me comin’ up the road, bold as brass, and he knew what I could not, that the marines were waitin’ for me.  So he warned me the only way he could.” Then the smile disappeared and he covered his mouth with one hand, trying to ignore how it trembled.  “Get out,” he ordered softly.

 

The cabin doors clicked shut, and Jack knew he was alone.  He stared down at his new clothes, at the shine of the rings on his fingers, at the accounting of his piracy, and could not bear to think how dear the cost had been.

 

***

Jack was on deck an hour later, bellowing at his crew to man the longboats.  He had changed back into his old threadbare clothes and faded black greatcoat, but the kohl was hopelessly smudged around his eyes, and he felt he had aged a hundred years.

 

Gibbs sidled up to him.  “What are ye thinkin’, Cap’n?” he asked in an undertone, nearly inaudible in the tumult on deck.

 

Jack didn’t respond, just watched as the men grabbed weaponry and lowered the boats, fingers tapping restlessly.

 

“Jack!” Gibbs grabbed his arm and shook it until Jack focused on him.  “Revenge won’t bring Jamie back.”

 

Jack smiled, and didn’t care if it looked as unreal as it felt.  “Not after revenge, mate,” he replied, and his eyes returned to the water and the shore.  “Just goin’ to pay my respects.”

 

“An’ for that, you need a full raidin’ party?”

 

The smile vanished.  “Do not mistake me, Mister Gibbs,” he said, his voice flat and cold.  “Any man who had a hand in James’ death…” He paused, unable to keep his breath from hitching.  “His guilt will be paid,” he finished in a whisper.  He removed his arm from Gibbs’ grasp and strode to the ship’s ladder.

 

Gibbs just shook his head and shoved a pistol through his belt.

 

The _Brisbane_ was not in the harbor when Jack and his crew made their stealthy way through the underbrush toward the inn.  Jack knew that the men had already heard some version of what had happened; Gibbs would have seen to it, intentionally or not.  The muttering he could hear behind him did not carry any overtones of mutiny, so he ignored it and commanded the men to take position.  He knew the road and tavern-yard and the ins and outs of the town so well as to give them from memory.

 

No one was watching as they entered the inn-yard, and Jack gave the signal.  The inn-door fell inward with the slightest push, and as he stepped inside, he noted that it had already been splintered from its hinges.  _Probably from the bloody redcoats yesterday,_ he thought, and took a deep breath to maintain control.

 

He was surprised to see there were townspeople in the common room.  Most stared open-mouthed at the armed men in their rough garb, as if unable to believe the manner of their entrance.  “Stay calm, gentlemen, ladies,” he called, dredging up a smile that he did not feel.  “As long as no one tries anything stupid, no harm will come to you.”

 

A man, older than Jack by some years, stood up from a table.  His features were lined with age and care, and his hair was liberally dusted with grey, but he still stood tall, and his eyes snapped green fire.  “Sparrow!” he spat, clenching his fists.

 

Even had he not seen the man on his visits, Jack still would have guessed who he was by his resemblance to James.  He had often teased James he’d be the image of his da in twenty years time or so.  Jack clamped his fingers around the butt of his pistol to anchor himself.  “Master Norrington.”

 

“It’s because of _you_ that my son…” James’ da’s voice broke, and he could not finish.

 

Jack clutched his pistol even tighter, until he was sure that he had his own voice under control and it would not shake as he spoke.  “Sir,” he said in a low tone, taking one cautious step closer.  “If it was within my power to change this, I would.  I would give anything, do anything… give my life for his without hesitation.  But I cannot.  I am merely here to pay my respects.”

 

John Norrington trembled from head to toe, his lips a thin line.  For a moment, Jack was afraid that he would refuse, that he would order him to leave… and if he did, Jack knew he would go without protest.

 

But then the older man’s strength gave out and he sat back into his chair.  “Upstairs,” he muttered, covering his face with one hand.

 

Before heading for the door to the kitchen, Jack swayed closer to him and whispered, “I would never have wished your son harm.”  He longed to say more, to give voice to the true depth of his feeling, but…  _But I never told you, Jamie-luv,_ he thought.  _An’ I’ll be damned if I’ll tell him _that_ when you didn’t know…_

 

He knew the way to James’ chamber well, but his steps had none of the eagerness of times past, and he had to steel himself to enter.

 

Blood and gunpowder and death hung in the air.  A still form covered with a sheet lay on the bed where they two had enjoyed pleasant hours.  Rusty red patches stained the fabric where it lay over his breast.  At the sight, Jack sagged against the door frame, his strength ebbing away.

 

When he finally could bring himself to approach, his hands fluttered over the top of the sheet for a moment, then he pulled it down with great delicacy to uncover James’ face.  He sucked in a breath, shocked anew to see James so still.  _I couldn’t believe it_, he thought, _not really_, and reached out to trail his fingers over James’ lip, slightly swollen, and the bruise that had formed around his mouth, his lightly-stubbled jaw and chin, both liberally spattered with blood.  At the sight of it staining his fingers, he sank down onto the bed, his hip nudging James’.  James’ hair was loose and spread around his head in a dark wave; the lock with the bead Jack had braided in lay against his throat. 

 

This _is what your piracy has brought you,_ he told himself, and he could not contain the loathing in the thought.

 

His fingers shook as he combed them through James’ fine hair, arranging it neatly, the braided lock not quite hidden among the rest.  Then, careful not to disturb the sheet more than necessary, not quite sure he could bear to see the wound that had killed him, Jack sought out James’ hand.  Upon discovering how the ropes had torn away the flesh where James had been bound, he felt his lips twist once more.  _Ah, I knew you were a fighter, Jamie,_ he thought with a thin edge of pride, and folded their hands together, pale fingers and tanned woven together.

 

He had not moved – except, perhaps, for the way he couldn’t quite keep his shoulders from quaking – when Gibbs called his name some time later.  Scrubbing at his cheeks with his free hand, he disentangled his fingers from James’ and stood.  The pouch, stuffed inside his shirt once more, clinked as he rose, and he drew it out.  After weighing it briefly, he opened it and pulled out two silver coins, then folded James’ hand around them.  “For the fare, luv,” he murmured. Quickly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to James’ cold ones as fiercely as a promise. 

 

“Jack!” Gibbs shouted again, as he clattered down the stairs.  “Jack, the bloody _Brisbane_ is pulling back into port!  My guess is they just sailed up the coast and out of sight, and now…” He gestured helplessly out the door.

 

Jack peered down to the harbor, saw the _Brisbane_ fighting her way back into the harbor against the wind blowing offshore.  This time when he smiled, it was feral, fey.  _Oh, aye, you canny son of a bitch,_ he thought, feeling the wind tangle in his hair and set his beads to clacking.  _There you are, just as I knew you would be._  But he could not say aloud that he’d deliberately led his crew into this trap, else there would be mutiny for certain.  “Mister Gibbs!” he barked.  “Back to the _Pearl_ with all haste! Those scurvy Navy rats will never catch us on the open water!”

 

Howling their approval, the pirate crew disappeared into the undergrowth to a man, racing back to the cove where the _Black Pearl_ rested at anchor. 

 

Jack hung back, waiting until they were well gone before turning to John, standing just outside the broken door.  “Master Norrington… I’ve something for you.”  He pulled out the coin pouch.  “It can do nothing for your loss…”

 

The innkeeper pushed it away, face twisted in revulsion.  “I want none of your pirate loot!”

 

Jack smiled sadly.  “This was always meant for you, sir.  James is…” he swallowed thickly.  “James _was_ the reason for all that I have lately done.  He was a sailor born, an’ the sea is in his soul.  With this money, I had hoped to buy his freedom.”

 

Now the man scowled thunderously.  “James was my son, not a slave!  I do not see how…”

 

“Ah, but he was a slave to duty,” Jack said, his smile stretching helplessly.  “And he would never have left you… unless there was the promise of someone to help you run your fine establishment, or so I believed.  With this coin, you could have hired a good man, and, I hoped, James would be free.”  He pressed the pouch into John Norrington’s unresisting hand. “’Tis still yours to have.”

 

He cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder toward the harbor, then swiftly went on, “Now, sir, I must crave your indulgence for one more request.  I care not if you want a marker for him on land, but please… bury James at sea.  Let him the ocean sing him to his eternal rest.”

 

His frown less deep, more thoughtful, John stared down at the pouch for a long moment, as it clinked in his hand, then at Jack once more before nodding slowly.

 

Jack’s smile glittered golden for the first time that day.  He could trust James’ da to do as he said.  _After all,_ he thought, _Jamie had to get his integrity somewhere, didn’t he?_  “Thank you,” he murmured.

 

Before he could make his way to the trees for his own escape, the trampling of many booted feet, running hard, told Jack his time was up.  When he turned around, he was greeted by a rank of sneering marines and a gleaming arc of bayonets.

 

“So, Jack Sparrow.” Jack didn’t recognize the man or his voice, but the deference of the marines, shuffling aside to let him pass, and the sheer amount of brocade on his coat marked him as the _Brisbane_’s captain.  “It appears you’ve stumbled your way into our trap after all.”

 

“There was no stumblin’ about it, mate,” Jack retorted, his grin almost a snarl.  “I knew what I was doin’ every step of the way.”

 

Barbossa’s cruel little smirk wavered but little in the face of Jack’s conviction.  “Is that so?”

 

Jack didn’t deign to reply, just gave him a mocking smile.

 

“But I must beg to differ, Sparrow, seein’ as _ye_ are the one starin’ at the wrong end of a dozen muskets.”  The captain’s lips twisted a little more.  “Ye might as well surrender, pirate, an’ leave these good people in peace.  Why, you’ve already caused death among them.”

 

He saw red for a moment, rage that Barbossa – _you Navy bastard_ – would use his Jamie’s death against him so boiling up in his chest and filling that empty spot where his heart had seemingly withered.  But he gave no sign of it.  “Surrender, and be taken back to Port Royal for a dawn appointment with the hangman?” He shook his head, still smiling.  “Thank you, but no, I fear I must pass.”

 

The captain’s patience at last ran out, and he drew his sword.  “I think ye’ll find that it wasn’t a request,” he said, his tone smooth as glass.

 

“I thought not,” Jack replied, training his eyes on Barbossa’s sword.  “However, Captain, you’re forgettin’ one very important thing.”

 

Barbossa arched one eyebrow.  “Am I now?  An’ what might that be?”

 

Jack’s smile turned bloodthirsty.  “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.” 

 

Moving fast, faster than he ever had, he whipped the pistol from his sash, aiming and firing in one continuous motion, with a laugh that was at once despairing and triumphant.

 

A brilliant red splotch bloomed instantly on Barbossa’s white waistcoat, vivid against the gold brocade of his coat.  He staggered and fell, blood trickling from his mouth, dying, dead before he could even hit the ground.

 

But even as he pulled the trigger, Jack felt fiery pain through his body, set afire as he was pierced by a dozen musket balls nearly at once.  All his grace burned away, he slumped onto the dusty road, the scent of blood heavy around him, soaking into the dust of the road.

 

He looked up into the sun and wind, and, smiling, stretched out one hand.

 

***

The legend of Jack Sparrow grew even after his death on the road that day, for those who were there whispered of how the pirate had laughed as the musket balls entered his body, and how even as he lay dying, his smile never dimmed.

 

What they could not see was the tall young man with brown hair and eyes like the sea, insubstantial as the wind, smiling and reaching out a hand to the pirate, silver glinting across his palm.

 

***

December 14, 2009


End file.
